The Solution to the Final Problem
by Starry Eyes 372
Summary: [During the Reichenbach Fall] Jim Moriarty changes his mind on the rooftop of the hospital. Sherlock will go with him or risk the lives of those closest to him. Now, trapped in Jim's possession Sherlock searches for a way out. [Sherlock x Moriarty]
1. Six Hours

**Jim changes his offer to Sherlock on the roof of the hospital. Smut and violence to come later (like the next chapter). Sherlock x Moriarty. I don't own anything here. Feel free to read and respond. Thanks!**_  
_

* * *

_I'm waiting…_

_-JM_

* * *

Up on the rooftop of Bartholomew's Hospital Sherlock glared menacingly at his arch-nemesis as he explained how his entire plan had played out.

"You know," Jim Moriarty continued his long speech, "I was going to have you end this story up here, today. I can see though that today isn't that day. Oh well." The consulting criminal looked out into the distance of London while rubbing his face before turning back to the detective. "The game isn't over just yet. You know, Sherlock, I was going to have you jump? Of course, you probably knew. Now I know though that, that won't be enough." Jim came uncomfortably close to Sherlock's face before quietly saying, "Not for you, and not for me." Jim backed off and continued animatedly pacing about the rooftop as Sherlock looked on.

"I've always been a little jealous of your house pet, John- I think I may just get one myself. And I've decided it's going to be you, Sherlock." As he said it Jim looked at a shocked Sherlock with a half-smile. He looked like a snake in the grass waiting to attack its prey. "You're going to come away with me. You'll be _mine_."

"What makes you think I'll just go?" Sherlock snarled back at the villain.

"I can make you Sherlock, or else you can say goodbye to those closest to you."

"John?" Sherlock asked breathlessly as he began to feel his insides turn.

"And the others…"

"Mrs. Hudson…Lestrade," Sherlock realized.

"Three snipers, three bullets, unless…"

"Unless I go with you…"

Sherlock felt his body tighten. He hadn't expected this. He had known Jim would have him fall to end his story. The signs were all there for him. Sherlock had had Molly help him find a way to survive the fall to make his death appear real. Moriarty had come along and had flipped the plan on its back.

He didn't know what to do. Sherlock was out of plans. He needed time to think. He couldn't risk John, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade's lives over this though. He had to protect them.

Jim smiled wickedly seeing Sherlock's reaction to his latest change in plans. "How's about this," Jim interrupted Sherlock's thoughts, "I'll give you six hours to mull this over on your own, yes? After those hours are up I'll get to you. You can tell anyone you like. They won't stop me. You can run as far away as possible. I'll find you. There's no escaping me. You will be mine, Sherlock."

Sherlock still hadn't responded as he pondered in his head.

"I'll see you in six hours. I won't be late," Jim enunciated the last few words carefully. Moriarty began to make his way toward the stairs, but stopped before descending them. "Oh and try to not get yourself caught by the police? It won't halt me, but it'll make for such a predictable story of breaking you out."

Sherlock heard the door to the stairs open and close. He exhaled knowing he was finally alone.

Six hours…there were six hours.

His clock said 15:18. He had until about 21:15, well into the evening.

He sat on the roof of the hospital. There had to be a solution. Perhaps he could have Moriarty collect a fake Sherlock. It would never fool him though. The only way Sherlock could get out of this and not endanger the few people he cared about was to practice patience. He would have to go with Jim and devise a plan of escape that would ensure the safety of John, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade.

At some point in the afternoon Sherlock left the rooftop. He took a cab back to Baker Street to find John just leaving the flat they shared.

"Sherlock!" John breathed a sigh of relief at seeing his friend was alright. "I know you may not care, but Mrs. Hudson is just fine. Nothing happened to her. Are you sure you should be around here? You know, with the police searching for you?"

Sherlock smiled slightly at John before leading him back into 221 B Baker Street. He wouldn't tell John, Sherlock decided, that he was to be taken away.

John watched Sherlock with a look of slight confusion as he continued through the day as though it were normal. "Are you sure you're alright?" John asked. Why would Sherlock just be sitting around in the flat while there were problems to be solved? He still had to find a way to stop Moriarty. He had to clear his name. He had to solve the case about the children who were kidnapped. John was irritated for once by his friend's rare moment of lethargy.

"Yes, John," Sherlock sighed in relief as he stuck a nicotine patch to himself to help him think. He closed his eyes to continue pondering as he sat in his usual chair.

John gave up and began to read the day's paper, waiting for Sherlock to eventually blabber on with whatever his latest findings were.

_Tick tock._

The clock seemed to awaken Sherlock from his thinking. 18:36, it read.

He noticed John fixing tea in the kitchen.

"John," Sherlock said suddenly as he stood. John jumped from Sherlock's sudden return to the "real" world. "Come on, we're getting dinner."

John was slightly confused, but assumed it was a part of one of Sherlock's cases so he went along with him.

For once Sherlock ordered food at dinner, even though he simply picked at it. John didn't seem to notice Sherlock's unusual break from habit in actually ordering food.

Perhaps one of my last meals, Sherlock thought glumly to himself.

He looked about the small pub scanning it for small hints, clues, problems, and solutions. He watched the people, observing each of them finding their secrets and flaws. The figure in a small chair by the corner made him inhale abruptly from surprise. Jim Moriarty sat comfortably in the chair on the other side of the room reading a newspaper titled, "Amateur Detective Sherlock Holmes a Fake?" Jim put the paper down slightly to smile smugly at Sherlock. Jim tapped the watch on his wrist before pulling the paper back up to hide his face.

Sherlock looked at the clock on the wall hesitantly reading 19:58. There was a little more than an hour left.

John had failed to notice any of this as continued talking about his most recent girlfriend and how confused she must be by the stories in the news about them.

"John, it's time for us to leave," Sherlock interrupted.

"What? Why?" John asked looking down at his half-eaten sandwich.

"No time to explain, let's go."

Out on the streets John asked, "Are you going to tell me anything? What's going on Sherlock? You've been acting strange all night. Does this have to do with a case or something?"  
Sherlock hesitated before answering, "Yes. It is very important that I return home to think. I-I may have found a way to prove Richard Brooks is a fake."

"Do you want me to take a different cab? So you can think?" John asked testily.

"Yes…" Sherlock said before entering the cab to leave John back at the pub to call his own cab. Sherlock was lying to John. He had no solution. What else could he have said though? John was suspicious.

His watch read 20:08. "Stop here," Sherlock ordered the cab.

It was 20:42 when Sherlock reentered 221 B Baker Street. John was already home writing his blog. "Where were you?" John asked when Sherlock stepped in.

"Rosin," Sherlock held up the small box for the bow of his violin.

"Oh John?" Sherlock asked as he rosined his bow up to play, "Think you could run to the hospital? I left some files for this case by the lab."

"At…" John looked down at his watch, "20:55? That's late."

Eventually John went down to get the files that weren't there.

Fifteen minutes to get there. Ten minutes to search for the files until giving up. Three minutes of phoning Sherlock to ask where the files were more specifically. Five minutes of more searching in vain. Fifteen minutes to return back to 221 B Baker Street.

Yes, Sherlock thought positioning his bow on the string, he would be long gone with Moriarty by the time John returned.

Time seemed to move slowly as Sherlock played the violin waiting for the time. He had nothing to think about this. At this point there was nothing he could do. He had to be patient.

Between rests in the music Sherlock listened for any unusual sounds, but heard nothing. Then his phone buzzed on the arm of a chair.

* * *

_Beautiful tune._

_Time to go._

_-JM_

* * *

Sherlock took a deep breath to prepare himself.

As he departed 221 B Baker Street he felt a tap before his body and face made contact with the cold sidewalk. Then he felt nothing, but cold darkness.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! I know it's short but the next chapter is longer I promise. Feel free to leave me any suggestions or thoughts!**


	2. The First Night

**Warning: Graphic**

* * *

There was so much darkness. Sherlock had been plunged into a deep pool of darkness. He couldn't feel his limbs. His head seemed to be floating in the middle of nowhere.

He tried to shake himself out of it. He wasn't in control. Sherlock hated it.

"No," he said to himself in disbelief as a figure appeared before his blurred eyes.

He shook his head again telling himself and the figure, "Not you. Not yet."

Jim Moriarty's very close up face appeared near Sherlock's. He was smiling sinisterly. He looked wolfish. It was all a very similar sequence to when Sherlock had been drugged by the chemical field in the case from Dartmoor.

Sherlock reached out to push the face away still saying, "No. Not yet."

* * *

"Ah," Sherlock woke with a start from his drug infested dream. His head fell as it still felt heavy like lead from the drugs. His eyes dazed as he looked across the room. It moved too slowly for him to make any useful deductions. He only noticed he was in a bedroom. It was a luxurious room from the style of the furniture and the colors used on the furniture.

He allowed his eyes to close. He felt his arms, bound expertly to a stiff chair. Slowly, he began tugging at the bindings, trying to loosen them in the slightest way.

In the distance he heard the door to the bedroom open as a figure walked in. Sherlock tried opening his heavy eye lids. The drugs seemed to call him back to the darkness.

"So you've woken up," Jim Moriarty's voice seemed to echo from the other side of the room. Sherlock could tell Jim was closer, but the drugs were simply messing with his senses. Jim was suddenly very close to Sherlock's face, carefully inspecting Sherlock. "Well at least somewhat awake."

Sherlock didn't have the strength to move away from the consulting criminal. He closed his eyes to try shutting him out so he could rest for the moment. He needed to regain himself.

"Hm," Jim caressed Sherlock's cheek with his soft hand, "I guess I should give you some time." Jim lightly slapped Sherlock's cheek to awaken him, before he walked away.

Sherlock tried to clear his mind, but felt he was slipping.

"Fight it," Jim whispered suddenly behind Sherlock, stroking his dark curly hair. "I need you clear minded to play our little game."

Sherlock felt a wave of control over himself. He flinched away from Jim as far as his bounds would allow him to.

"Good," Jim sing songed before getting up to pace. "You're coming back, my pet."

"Don't-" Sherlock managed.

"Now, now, remember I own you. You're mine. You won't be telling me what to do."

"You're a psychopath…" Sherlock breathed.

Jim smirked shaking his head. Then he was up in Sherlock's face very quickly. He snarled at Sherlock and shouted, "I dare you to say that again!"

Sherlock flinched back, seeming to wake up from the drugs more.

"You're a…" Sherlock continued, but Jim stopped him by pressing his fingers across Sherlock's mouth.

"Sherlock Holmes," Jim mumbled as he came closer to the detective. To Sherlock's alarm Jim straddled the chair he sat in, both legs around Sherlock. "The _great_ Sherlock Holmes." Jim played with Sherlock's curls with one hand and caressed his face and neck with the other. "You're all mine.

"Do you want to know how our game plays out Sherlock?" Jim asked his voice returning to normal.

Sherlock had woken up more at Jim uncomfortably being across his lap, invading Sherlock's personal space. "Oh, let me guess," he slurred slightly, "You torture me and try to 'break' me until you finally kill me."

Jim mocked a hurt look. "Won't that just be ordinary? So predictable! You have to stop being so ordinary Sherlock. No, no," Jim continued to caress Sherlock's face feeling his rough eyebrows and milky white cheeks. "I will break you. I will ruin you. I want to take everything from you." Then he whispered a word that brought Sherlock to full attention, "Virgin."

Sherlock stiffened as his mind put together what was going to happen. Jim laughed quietly to himself before pulling himself closer.

Sherlock squirmed feeling the other man's lips on his neck, softly kissing him.

"Does this make you feel uncomfortable?" Jim asked, "Because honey it's about to get worse."

Jim began prying at the top button on Sherlock's shirt, easily sliding it a part. Sherlock pulled on his bounds to free himself but to no avail.

"Oh, we can take those off if you want. You just have to promise me…"

"Promise what?" Sherlock asked reserved.

"That you'll do as I say."

"Why would I ever-"

"I have leverage you know. Just because you come with me willingly doesn't mean my snipers have been called off. Don't believe me?"

"I-"

"Just say it. Say you'll be a good pet and do as I say."

Sherlock looked Jim over suspiciously unsure whether to call his bluff.

Jim became impatient. He pulled out his phone to begin dialing numbers. "Well I guess Mrs. Hudson had a good run."

"No!" Sherlock said suddenly. He didn't want to risk it. He couldn't. "Please," he pleaded as Jim lowered the phone looking expectantly at Sherlock.

"Say it," Jim drawled out.

"I…" Sherlock hesitated, "I'll do what you say, just don't hurt her."

"Good," Jim said as he got off of Sherlock. He returned with a knife. Once again he straddled the detective. "It's going to be alright Sherlock," Jim began speaking as he gently held the knife up to Sherlock's jaw. He then set about cutting off the bindings. "I'll be gentle, for now, my virgin."

When both of his hands were freed, Sherlock reacted quickly. He grabbed Jim by the throat and stood up rushing toward the bed.

Jim laughed. "You want it rough then?"

"No," Sherlock scowled, "I want to know the code or whatever it is to call off the snipers."

Jim's face turned sour. "Oh Sherlock, no code will call them off, not one I'll ever let you find out. If they even hear you've left my place all of them will be gone. You're trapped. You're under my control. How should I punish you for this?" Jim squirmed under Sherlock's grip. "Maybe the doctor could lose a hand? It'd be a shame, not being able to perform surgery anymore."

Sherlock loosened his grip. He was in shock. He had lost.

Jim took advantage of the moment to swing around so Sherlock was lying on the bed as Jim straddled his hips. Sherlock lied there defeated and motionless as Jim began unbuttoning his shirt further.

Sherlock's shirt was pulled off and Jim began to explore his torso. Jim left kisses along his neck, sucking lightly on the skin. Eventually, he reached Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock kept his lips tight to prevent Jim from invading. Jim fought his way into Sherlock's mouth. It didn't last for long.

"Get up," Jim commanded, rolling off of Sherlock.

Sherlock stood before Jim shirtless. "Oh dear," Jim looked at Sherlock deliciously. "Take off your trousers."

Sherlock complied stripping down to just his shorts.

"All the way Sherlock."

He hesitated before removing the final article of clothing, but eventually it was gone.

"Oh, look what you've been hiding form everyone," Jim said snarkily, mocking the consulting detective. "Now come back to Daddy."

Sherlock walked awkwardly back to the bed, looking for a way out. Jim patted it for Sherlock to sit down. Once he was sitting, Jim wrapped his arms around Sherlock's torso and began kissing his shoulder blades. Sherlock kept staring ahead trying to put his mind elsewhere.

Jim stood and began removing his own clothes. Once he was naked, he commanded, "Roll over."

Jim straddled Sherlock and reached for Sherlock's cock, which began to become hard at his touch. Sherlock's face reddened. He'd never been touched like this. Sherlock's breathing deepened and he felt Jim smiling behind him.

With one hand on Sherlock's cock, Jim traced a lubed finger around Sherlock's entrance. Sherlock felt his head spinning. This wasn't happening. Almost instinctively he tried to push Jim off, but he was pinned. He heard Jim quietly laugh behind him knowing he was a trapped animal.

Then there was sudden pain as Jim drove a finger into Sherlock's tight hole. His entire body convulsed. Jim allowed it to sit there before he moved it in and out slowly.

Sherlock nearly screamed as a second finger was added. Sweat dripped down his face. Jim squeezed Sherlock's hardened member tighter as he began scissoring with his other hand.

When Jim removed his fingers, Sherlock's body began trembling. He knew what was coming as Jim sat into position.

"Sh," Jim shushed Sherlock, stroking his back, giving him little kisses on his back.

Sherlock's body stiffened, feeling Jim's lips on his back.

"You've got to learn to trust me, Sherlock," Jim whispered as his hard cock moved around and pressed into Sherlock's entrance.

Sherlock made an attempt to move away. Jim grabbed Sherlock's curly brown locks violently to pull him back. "You don't want the doctor to get hurt, do you?" Jim asked, his voice dripping with poison. Then he forced his cock into Sherlock.

Sherlock gasped from pain and surprise. He nearly screamed. He clawed at the sheets of the bed.

Jim moaned letting his cock just sit there. He loosened his grip on Sherlock's hair.

He began thrusting slowly, increasing his pace. Sherlock continued to gasp, trying to catch his breath. This task became even more difficult as Jim began stroking Sherlock's cock teasingly.

"J-Jim," Sherlock gasped.

Jim simply moaned continuing to thrust and stroke Sherlock even faster.

Sherlock felt horrible. He had lost control of everything.

"Jim," he panted again.

With his free hand, Jim grabbed Sherlock's hair tightly as he came.

Sherlock moaned unpleasantly and felt Jim smile into his back as he began to release his grip on Sherlock's hair.

"Oh, Sherlock," Jim whispered, kissing Sherlock's shoulder blades. Jim moved his hand faster on Sherlock's cock. Sherlock sputtered before finally coming on Jim's hand.

Jim smirked, getting up. Sherlock collapsed from exhaustion and shock. His eyes were wide and he curled into himself. His mind didn't know what to think. He was so confused and lost.

Jim opened a drawer by the bed behind Sherlock. Next thing Sherlock knew there was a prick at his neck. Sherlock thrashed around, but felt his world move slowly as he felt himself being drugged. "Just a sedative to put you to sleep," Jim informed Sherlock when their eyes met.

Sherlock tried to say something, but his brain was shutting down.

Jim reached toward Sherlock as the lights in his head began to flicker off. A small kiss was placed on Sherlock's lips as the lights flickered off.

In the distance Sherlock heard Jim tell him in a mocking tone, "The game has just begun."

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Feel free to leave suggestions. I'm not exactly sure where this is going to go, so I'd greatly appreciate any thoughts! New chapter to be posted soon.**


	3. Learn Your Lesson

He was alone when he woke up in the bedroom the next morning. He felt his mind sharpen as he pulled on his clothing from yesterday dispersed across the soft, creamy carpet.

Was John wondering where Sherlock was? John must have been confused when he returned to find the flat empty the night before. Sherlock's phone was missing. Jim had probably confiscated it at some point when Sherlock was drugged the night before.

Sherlock's superior senses began to work. There was movement downstairs. Sherlock never sat still waiting for things to come to him, unless it was necessary for solving a case. He always confronted things head on. Just because he didn't know where he was didn't mean he would just sit there waiting.

The bedroom door was unlocked as Sherlock budged it open. He crept down the stairs on his guard. Moriarty could be anywhere. At the bottom of the stairs, Sherlock spotted two large doors, obviously exit doors. Before he could make a move for the doors to his escape a voice interrupted him.

"That won't end well for your friends…or you."

Sherlock sighed sharply, recognizing Jim's voice behind him. "I guess you've already had your snipers get in position," Sherlock stated not turning to face the man.

When he finally got around turning to face the consulting criminal he noticed Jim was already dressed in an expensive suit. He gave Sherlock a small, sinister smile, knowing how he had dominated Sherlock the night before. Jim turned to walk back down the hallway he had come from.

Sherlock looked at the doors again suddenly noticing something he had missed. Stupid, he thought. The doors were wired to electricity. Opening the door would send an electric volt to the opener that could knock them unconscious for a while. It was obvious too. Jim had installed the system to purposely be in plain sight to Sherlock, with one of the wires frayed and sticking out from the closed door. Then he turned to face the hallway Jim had disappeared down. Light emitted from a single room down the hall.

The room was a study. Tall bookcases decorated a side of a wall. An expensive mahogany desk sat in front of a large bay window. Jim sat in a plush chair behind the desk. He was reading through something, lost in the words. Sherlock walked toward the bookcases inspecting the many books occupying the shelves.

"You know," Sherlock said, "people will come looking for me. John's probably already begun searching."

Jim chuckled. "You're right there. He's been to see Mycroft already. He hasn't taken any extreme measures yet though. Would you like to see him? Don't worry I knew you would."  
A television set flickered on in the room displaying a look at 221 B Baker Street. John was in the picture writing on his laptop. Sherlock noticed by his posture that he was slightly in distress. Mycroft had likely told him not to worry about Sherlock that he was off solving a case. John was worried though. He knew what was on the line for Sherlock.

Sherlock couldn't remember the last time someone had worried for him, besides Mrs. Hudson of course. John was a good friend.

Sherlock stiffened as arms wrapped around his torso. "Looks a little sad doesn't he?" Jim said into Sherlock's ear. "You miss him don't you? Imagine if he knew what happened to you last night."

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut. Jim began placing kisses on his neck, sucking softly at the skin. Jim kept invading his personal space. He couldn't find a safe space in his mind that Jim wasn't trying to infest.

"He'd probably be horrified. Do you think he would still want to be around you?" Jim taunted as Sherlock watched John moving about on the screen.

Something snapped in Sherlock. His elbow made contact with Jim's nose, whacking him away from Sherlock. Jim had gone too far. He had done too much.

Jim's arms retracted from Sherlock's waist and he stepped away, gripping his nose that gushed blood. Sherlock smiled smugly for his own sake. His small victory didn't last long though.

Soon enough Jim was back in Sherlock's personal space, tugging harmfully on his curly hair with an outraged look on his face. "When will you learn?" he shouted. He threw Sherlock's head down as he released Sherlock's hair. Jim pulled out his phone, pressing a few buttons. He pointed back to the screen.

In horror, Sherlock saw a red dot cross over John's forehead. "No," Sherlock gasped.

Jim pressed a few other buttons, mumbling, "Too soon." The channel was turned to show Mrs. Hudson. She was carefully descending the stairs. A gun shot rang out. "No!" Sherlock shouted. She hadn't been hit. The bullet simply grazed past her. However, the shock took a toll on her. She began to take a painful fall down the stairs. It was a fall that clearly broke one of her already weak ankles. Sherlock couldn't move away from the screen. He looked on in shock.

"You see," Jim said angrily, twisting Sherlock's head around to meet his face, "what happens when you don't behave?"

Sherlock felt the wind knocked out of him as Jim powerfully punched him in the stomach. The smaller man didn't look it, but he was strong. Sherlock clutched his stomach, doubling over in pain. Another blow was given when Sherlock made an attempt to stand upright. He fell to his knees before Jim, completely at his mercy.

"You're lucky I don't break your pretty little face," Jim's rage seemed to be calming as he reached down to caress Sherlock's soft cheek. "Maybe you need to be taught a lesson," Jim mumbled.

Jim reached to unzip the zipper on his trousers. Sherlock felt his face flush, feeling uncomfortably too close to that region of Jim's.

Jim's member was getting hard from expectations. He pulled his trousers and shorts down in one motion. "Don't you know dear," he said quietly, "your resistance only makes Daddy want you more. If you behave and do as you are told, you won't have to see your friends go through such painful events." Sherlock couldn't escape into his mind if Jim kept talking. He stared straight ahead at Jim's twitching member. "Put it in your mouth," Jim commanded.

Sherlock looked disgusted as Jim pushed his cock forward. Sherlock took the cock into his mouth feeling Jim shiver with delight.

"Now don't be shy, start to suck on it," Jim told him from above, gripping Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock did as he was told, hating himself for it. Jim began moving Sherlock's head by his hair up and down his shaft in a rhythm. He began bobbing Sherlock's head faster and faster. Sherlock felt himself getting dizzy. It was too deep. He couldn't breathe. "This will…teach you…a lesson," Jim groaned as he came in Sherlock's mouth.

"Swallow," Jim instructed as Sherlock tried to get the warm liquid down.

Jim removed his cock, pulling his trousers back on. He walked back to his desk leaving Sherlock on his knees. Jim pressed more keys on his phone. "I guess the officers should know that John Watson is indeed at your flat. It's about time they found him. He's still wanted right? You both resisted arrest. I bet the officers will look for answers as to where you've gone from him," he informed Sherlock standing over him now. "Well this is yet another punishment I guess for misbehaving. I hope you've learned your lesson. And for your sake, I hope John can withstand the interrogations." He left the room, leaving Sherlock alone.

Finally alone, Sherlock attempted to escape to his mind palace. The phone was key to his freedom and his friend's protection. Moriarty had been punching keys into it to threaten Sherlock. If he could get his hands on the phone perhaps he could pull Moriarty's plan apart. Then Sherlock could begin planning his escape. He could always find a way to get a message to John or Mycroft, allowing protection.

At some point, Sherlock dozed off in the study while thinking in his mind trying to form a plan. He was still nestled on the elegant couch facing the blank television when Jim returned to the room hours later.

It was dark outside now. Jim had been dealing with other business. Many still believed he had the key to unlock any door, even though it had simply been the power of bribery and manipulation. Then there had been the terrorist group from Sri Lanka, they were looking to scramble up the government of India for a few days.

Jim smiled slightly at Sherlock's body curled up on the couch. He walked over to the detective to caress his face, giving him a kiss on the lips. Sherlock's eyes opened slowly then realized who was kissing him. He seemed to resolve though since people he cared about were at risk.

So he learned his lesson, Jim thought.

"Come with me," Jim held his hand. Sherlock took it after hesitating, and then Jim began leading Sherlock to the bedroom.

Tonight, Jim would teach Sherlock another lesson.

* * *

**Are you enjoying it? Is the length ok? Any ideas or suggestions? Let me know! **

**Next chapter written and to go up soon.  
**


	4. Blood Will Run

**Violence and blood in this chapter.**

**This is a long one for once. Hopefully not to long...  
**

* * *

There it was, just sitting there. Jim's phone taunted Sherlock from the nightstand next to the bed.

It was early in the morning. Looking out the window, Sherlock predicted from the constellation positions that it was around three in the morning. He may not have known that the earth orbited the sun, but he did know how to navigate his way or tell the time based on the night sky.

Next to him, Jim slept soundlessly. His arm wrapped around Sherlock's naked body possessively. Soft beams of air escaped Jim's nose landing on Sherlock's exposed neck.

Sherlock steadied his breath as he slowly tried to creep out from Jim's grip. It was a task Sherlock had been doing for the past two weeks since being forced to come to Jim's house. He never slept well in that bed with Jim. Often he woke in the night to reposition himself further away. He always woke up finding Jim even closer though.

The phone stared back at Sherlock as he slid Jim's arm off of him, acting as though he was readjusting himself in his sleep. Once he had gained his freedom he stood slowly allowing the weight of the mattress to shift progressively. He swiped the phone, giving a cautionary look at the sleeping Jim. It was funny. In his sleep he certainly didn't look like a deviant psychopath that had been trying to break Sherlock these past two weeks.

When he made it to the bathroom, Sherlock inspected the phone. He figured out the code into the phone, unfortunately remembering Jim's pants size. He found nothing on the phone though to ensure the safety of his friends. He couldn't crack the phone. Nearly everything was blocked, including calls. Sherlock tried a few random codes to connect with Jim, but got nowhere.

The air in the bathroom suddenly shifted to a chilling cool. Sherlock's muscles tensed as the door creaked open. He didn't have to turn to know who it was. He turned around after a few moments of tense silence.

Jim's face was fearsome. His eyes had an angry fire in them as he looked at the phone in Sherlock's hand. His lips were squeezed tight from impatience. Sherlock felt bare being naked as the robed Jim Moriarty angrily looked him over.

The men continued to stare one another down.

Finally Jim nearly rushed at Sherlock. He grabbed the phone throwing it down on the granite counter top with the sink. Next, he grabbed Sherlock's hair violently pulling him back into the bedroom. He flung Sherlock's head into a hard wooden dresser, letting go of his hair when Sherlock's head hit the dresser with a clunk.

Sherlock's knees buckled as his head made contact with the dresser. He squeezed his eyes shut as pain erupted in his head. His hands shot up feeling a warm liquid coming from his head. He was bleeding. He made a move to stand, but Jim's foot made contact with Sherlock's stomach, sending him back to the floor. He lay on his side wheezing for air.

He heard Jim's footsteps walking toward the bed. "I'm tired. I'll punish you tomorrow," Jim declared before turning off the lights, leaving Sherlock lying on the floor.

Sherlock curled into himself. At some point he dozed off on the floor. He dreaded the morning. Would someone die? He'd been stupid and careless.

He knew though he had to find a way out of this trap, or game as Jim called it.

In the morning he was woken and brought to a bland room and told to sit in a chair. He didn't see himself in a mirror, but he had he, Sherlock would have seen the gash in his head. He would have seen the dried blood in his matted hair.

In the bland room a doctor painfully stitched up Sherlock's head. Jim looked on from the other side of the room. He hadn't spoken since the night before. He hadn't looked at Sherlock either. He was staring off into space, deep in thought.

When Sherlock was fixed up he followed Jim to the study.

Jim pushed him on to the plush sofa before the television screen.

"There are so many chemicals in hospitals," Jim spoke pacing behind Sherlock. The screen flickered to reveal Bart's hospital in a lab Sherlock was very familiar with. At that moment Molly Hooper entered the lab. She sat down with her lunch to look over some papers. "It'd be easy for someone to switch up the chemicals. They could even end up in the wrong place."

Sherlock watched in a mute horror as Molly took a bite of her sandwich and alarmingly reached for her throat.

"Poison," Jim said. He came before Sherlock, standing between him and the screen. "She's dying, Sherlock, from a painful death. No one is coming to save her."

"Please," Sherlock began. He knew attachment to people was a weakness. He regretted it.

"You can save her," Jim said quietly.

Sherlock looked to Jim with hope. He missed the days when he was unattached. Those were the days when he could solve cases without worry.

"I'll call her an ambulance. They'll barely save her, but they will. I want you to beg for it though. Promise me you're mine. Tell me you'll never leave, that you've been broken."

Sherlock dropped to his knees before Jim. He held his hands together to beg. "Please," his voice was in a panic, Molly didn't have much time, "I-I'll stop fighting you. I'll do whatever you want. Please help her. I'll stay here. I won't try to escape. I-I'll be yours."

Jim was satisfied. He pressed a few numbers on his phone.

He gave Sherlock a hand up, squeezing tightly to him. "Don't make Daddy so mad. Keep trying to escape though. It prevents everything from getting boring." Then Jim reached up to kiss Sherlock's kiss. "Kiss me back," Jim commanded. Sherlock complied, feeling sick.

Jim led Sherlock back up to the bedroom where he violently fucked Sherlock. He had Sherlock screaming in pain. Tears nearly spilled over.

When it was over Sherlock had bruises all over his body. Bite marks that bled also littered his body. His head still hurt from the nasty gash he had received the night before. Jim didn't let him relax either.

Jim had business to do. He didn't want Sherlock doing nothing all day. He directed Sherlock to a small room for his own. There was a chair very similar to the one that sat in 221 B Baker Street. The room occupied books and a violin. Even a skull sat on a shelf. The room was completely made for Sherlock. It almost seemed like a small apology to Sherlock for what he had been forced to experience these past few weeks.

* * *

Sherlock spent a lot of time in his room. It was his time away from Jim.

Jim could hear his mumbling from the other room. Sherlock was thinking. He liked that.

Jim's job required he be out a lot. Although, rarely directly involved in his consulting criminal work, Jim still had to check in on his work. He hadn't been out in a while. He had been watching Sherlock. With Sherlock's room though, Sherlock had become less distant. He had stopped fighting Jim as much as he used to. Perhaps Jim could leave Sherlock at home while he stepped out. Of course, the house was completely under surveillance. There would be no way for Sherlock to easily leave. Jim had even programmed every exit and window to shock whoever tried to leave.

Jim stepped into Sherlock's room. The tall man sat in his chair, reading through a chemistry book. Behind the book, his face turned bitter. Jim chuckled, knowing Sherlock hated when Jim entered his room.

"I'm going out," Jim said looking over the messy room. "Be a good boy." Jim kissed the top of Sherlock's head. Sherlock continued to ignore Jim flipping to another page.

Sherlock heard as Jim left. Once he was alone he easily identified the hidden cameras. He scrambled the footage for the day in his specific room. It probably seemed suspicious, but Jim could prove nothing.

This is what he had been waiting for. Jim was gone. He could continue working on his escape.

The original plan of going through Jim's phone would never work. Jim kept the phone close to him now. Sherlock had successfully stolen it again, without getting caught. None of the passwords were obvious. Sherlock didn't even have enough time with the phone.

Instead, Sherlock began collecting various pieces to build a phone. Someone had been careless. Technology items had been thrown away or carelessly left about. Over time Sherlock had collected these items. He began to work, carefully constructing a messaging phone.

Once built, he attached it to the house's system. However, the phone was set to a blocked number, so the messages wouldn't be traceable or even findable. Sherlock wasn't sure how much time he would have before Jim discovered the random blocked number hooked into the system. Once he did shut it down Sherlock would have to hide the evidence. Surely, Jim would blame him first. Sherlock had to work fast to plan his escape.

He didn't even perform a test on the phone's messaging system. Quickly, he typed the message to the most reliable and, at the moment, helpful of contacts he had. When the message sent he heard the front door clicking open. Reacting quickly Sherlock slid his created phone into a dictionary he had hollowed out, placing it back on the book shelf.

He nearly jumped back into his chair, gluing his hands together as he would when he was thinking.

He pretended to be in his lost train of mind as steps approached his room. He tried to keep his face still as a dark shadow crossed his room.

A hand lightly patted Sherlock's shoulder. He pretended to awaken from his daze, but refused to look at Jim's figure standing over him.

"I've had a long, tiring day, Sherlock," Jim's voice came from behind him.

"Funny, I hardly noticed you were gone," Sherlock retorted monotone.

Jim sighed frustrated. The hand resting on Sherlock's shoulder clamped tighter, revealing how stressful Jim's day had been.

"I need some relief," Jim leaned down to say it softly in Sherlock's ear. Jim leaned forward to give Sherlock a sentimental kiss on the cheek.

"No, no," Sherlock stood from his chair walking to the other side of the room, his room, "any of _that_ needs to take place _outside_ of this room."

Jim looked up at Sherlock with a wicked smile. "You still think you're making the rules to this game." Jim began taking slow steps toward Sherlock. He spoke slowly with each step, exaggerating the situation. "When will it occur to you? I control everything here. Not even your little room is safe."

Jim laughed as he saw Sherlock realize he wouldn't be winning this fight. In fact, Sherlock had only encouraged the use of his personal room for their nightly escapades.

It really angered Sherlock.

The room was his one safe haven from Jim. It was where he plotted his escape and focused on the good parts of his life. The room had probably saved Sherlock from insanity. He couldn't let Jim spoil it.

He knew he would regret it, but he needed to distract Jim, to stop him from ruining _his_ room. Jim was already festered from work. He'd be easy to provoke. As soon as Jim took the next step into Sherlock's range Sherlock punched the small man square in the jaw.

Jim fell from shock at first, but soon enough retaliated with a hard blow to Sherlock's nose. Blood dripped from his nose as Sherlock prepared to fight.

Their fists flew back and forth at one another. Sherlock didn't hit as hard as Jim, he was worried about the consequences. Jim, on the other hand, refused to hold back. His frustration from work and with Sherlock came with every punch that landed across Sherlock's face, or every knee to Sherlock's stomach or every bite to whatever Jim could get a hold of.

They were on top of each other, fighting. Each man tried to land a punch or a kick. It was dirty fighting, but there were no rules at the moment.

Extremely heated from the moment, Jim pulled out a switch blade, landing it on Sherlock's shoulder, swinging an arm toward Jim.

Sherlock's eyes widened as he felt searing pain. He let go of Jim, falling back against a wall. He began panting heavily to catch his breath. He had a black eye. There were bleeding bite marks along his neck and jaw. His nose still flowed with blood. A bruise was forming across his stomach from a powerful kick. More bruises began forming along his legs and arms from being grabbed roughly, punched, kicked or kneed. To top it off a severe amount of blood was coming from where the switchblade had stabbed him.

Jim seemed to suddenly phase out of it. He hadn't realized what he had done to Sherlock. He had lost control. Jim rushed over to Sherlock to help him, wincing in pain from a bruised up knee.

Jim's knuckles may have broken from the amount of strength he had hit with. A cut marked the side of his nose near his eye. His lip was also split open spilling blood. A nasty bruise seemed to be forming on his cheek. Red marks surrounded his neck from where he had been strangled.

"Sherlock," he breathed in disbelief looking at the knife wound. He gathered himself before saying, "my dear, you mustn't be getting Daddy so out of control," in his usual voice.

Sherlock was losing a lot of blood. He began feeling woozy, choosing to take deep breaths to steady himself.

Jim left to return with something for Sherlock to hold over the knife wound for pressure. Jim also instructed Sherlock to hold the bridge of his nose with his other hand to stop the nose bleed.

"The doctors should be here soon," Jim informed Sherlock as he inspected his reflection in a mirror. "This was good," Jim motioned toward Sherlock. "That had to be done. Maybe I knocked out enough brain cells to stop you from forming a good escape plan."

Sherlock sank to the floor trying to keep his mind together and avoid Jim. Much to his disappointment Jim crouched next to Sherlock slumped against the wall.

"This is your fault you know," Jim told him.

"If you hadn't brought me here in the first place, none of this would have happened," Sherlock countered. "Man isn't meant to be caged up like this."

"So you want more to do?" Jim snuggled up to Sherlock, resting his head on Sherlock's shoulder.

"My mind is becoming a gutter."  
"Maybe you could help me with my business."

Sherlock looked down at the man. "I'm not sure…"

"Ah, I think I hear the paramedics. You think about that."

Before leaving to let the paramedics in, Jim leaned toward Sherlock to give him a passionate kiss. He pressed on Sherlock's shoulder wound to make Sherlock gasp in pain. It was a reminder of who made the rules.

"Our relationship…" Jim began

"Don't call it a relationship. _We_ don't have a relationship," Sherlock interrupted him.

"Oh, but we do Sherly."

"I'd say both parties would have to be in agreement…"

"You don't understand relationships too well do you? You find it difficult to make friends or find lovers."

"I don't need people. They get in the way with their stupidity."

Jim chuckled and began stroking Sherlock's bloody face. "That's why this works," Jim whispered. Then in a normal voice, he said, "You and me, we're not _ordinary_ people. It's why this happens. We may be dysfunctional, but it's passionate. We were made for each other. I'm all you'll ever have."

"There are others I would rather surround myself with."

"Who? John? The blokes from the Scotland Yard? Why cave to their stupidity of being ordinary when you have me." With that Jim left Sherlock to allow the paramedics in to fix both men up.

In the end Sherlock had many bruises and bite marks all across his body. He had a broken nose. His shoulder had been professionally patched up. Jim had a few cuts, especially across the face. Hand marks across his neck began to turn a blackish color. His hand was also broken, but well bandaged.

It was late when both men got to bed. Jim had had to take care of the paramedics, so he had told Sherlock with a wink. They couldn't have this episode getting out into the world.

Sherlock thought about Jim's proposed offer earlier as he lay in bed staring at the ceiling. "You could help me with my business." It would be a risky move for Sherlock, but it could help him. Helping Jim might give him more ideas and access to means of escape. It would stop his boredom as well.

Jim entered the bedroom as Sherlock thought. He smiled, loving to see Sherlock thinking so hard.

"You know," Jim cut through the silence, "they aren't looking for you."

Sherlock knit his eyebrows to give Jim a cold and confused look.

"Really," Jim continued, "no one is wondering where the great Sherlock Holmes has run off to. They all assume the stories about you being a fraud are true so you've packed up and left. Even John has had his doubts."

"Stop it."

Jim climbed over top of Sherlock to straddle his hips. "It's okay to feel ashamed of them. Who needs them? They've all accepted that you were a deviant liar who had no choice, but to run."

"You're sick."

"I'm all you have, Sherlock. I understand you."

Jim was caressing Sherlock, slowly shifting into his body to bring them closer. His hands seemed to be everywhere.

"I…I don't need people," Sherlock said decidedly.

"We both know that's not true. None of them need you though. All you have now is meeee."


	5. The Tuxedo

**So so sorry this took forever to get up! I'm terrible I know. I just started school again and I've been caught up with getting back into the swing of everything and doing stuff. Anyways here it is for you, the fifth chapter...more to come very soon, I promise!**

* * *

When Jim was out Sherlock used the time to contact his source on the outside. He would update him on Jim's plans and his current condition. They spoke in code too, in case the phone had been found.

Jim still hadn't found the number on the system. He had zero suspicions of Sherlock for a while. It wouldn't last though.

One day, Sherlock received a message he had been waiting for.

* * *

_John's gone on holiday._

_ Your skull needs tea. _

* * *

Sherlock chuckled as he read the message. John was safe now, thanks to his contact. From the message it was clear that he was somewhere in Scotland now, safe under protection. There weren't any snipers threatening his life anymore.

* * *

_Has Mrs. Hudson found her keys?_

* * *

Sherlock typed back, waiting only minutes for a response.

* * *

_She will soon. Just getting things in order._

_ The others too once convinced._

* * *

Sherlock nodded to himself. Mrs. Hudson would be hidden and protected soon as well. Lestrade and Molly clearly needed to be convinced that their lives were in danger so they had to be hidden for their protection. This required convincing them that Sherlock had nothing to hide, and that it was in their best interest to give up on their lives, leaving it all behind, for a few months. Once everyone had been protected, they would work on getting Sherlock out . The problem as that once Jim realized he had lost his leverage on Sherlock he would probably find something sinister to do, to keep Sherlock. On top of this, Jim had to be arrested and detained so everyone could go back to their lives. Sherlock appreciated the complication of the situation. It made his mind shift into gear.

* * *

_Don't let him get suspicious. _

* * *

The phone suddenly lit up from his contact.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, clearly.

* * *

Jim returned early from his affairs that night.

"Sherlock," Jim called Sherlock into his study. He sat behind the large desk filled with papers, packets, and various electronics.

From time to time Jim called Sherlock into his study for advice on his criminal planning. At first Sherlock had refused. However, he began giving his input due to the amount of boredom his brain was suffering though. Sure he often thought about ways to carry out his escape and detainment of Jim, but even that became old. Besides, Sherlock had grown used to Jim. Jim allowed him to work out a solution aloud even though Jim had already figured it out.

Jim liked that Sherlock had stopped flinching when he touched him. Sherlock was less hesitant with him. He still had a ways to go to truly breaking Sherlock. Lately, he had relied less on Sherlock's friends to motivate him. Sure, occasionally he would turn on the television, make a threat, break a bone, have a red dot run across a forehead to make Sherlock do as Jim had instructed. It was really for show now though. It was to remind Sherlock what was still at stake, that Jim still pulled all of the strings.

Jim had begun playing mind games with Sherlock instead. He told him no one but Jim cared about him. He told him how the Scotland Yard was doing phenomenal solving cases on their own. John had found a new companion, a "normal" friend. Mrs. Hudson was renting out his room now.

He saw the conflict in Sherlock's eyes. He didn't want to believe Jim, but he was beginning to. Jim was succeeding at getting to him.

When Sherlock sat down before Jim he received a suspicious look. He looked to the desk for Jim's next job, but saw nothing but the day's paper on economics and Jim's tablet lit up.

Sherlock looked back to stare at the man.

"John's disappeared," Jim put it simply.

"Into thin air?" Sherlock mused.

"It almost…seems that way. My sniper lost his position on him. I never knew John was smart enough to escape under my watch." Jim's eyebrows flickered up as he looked expectantly at Sherlock. He was trying to keep his cool at the moment. Jim was trying to stop himself from exploding.

"He can surprise even me with his intelligence."

"Really?" Jim drawled out, "I'm baffled he even knew he had to disappear. It's strange he knew he was in danger. It's like someone told him." Jim's eyes bore into Sherlock, unblinking.

"The doctor was at war. It can't be too difficult for him to recognize when there's a gun trained on him at all times," Sherlock offered, acting as though he knew nothing.

Jim laughed to himself. "Ah, you're probably right," he said, but his eyes remained suspiciously trained on Sherlock. He smiled tightly, patting Sherlock's still injured arm roughly, as though they were close friends.

Sherlock gritted his teeth in pain and squeezed his eyes tightly closed. The wound where the knife had been stabbed was still healing. It often ached.

Jim pretended he had forgotten about the wound. "Sorry," he mocked sincerity, then smiled to himself.

Jim often did this, pretending it was always an accident. It was another reminder to Sherlock.

"Anyway," Jim's voice rose as he changed the subject. "I wanted to tell you we'll be doing our own 'disappearing' soon. Well, when I say disappearing I mean holiday, but I guess you don't usually do work when you're on holiday."

"So it's a business trip?"

"Yes, to the Netherlands."

"What business needs to be done?"

"Oh, I'm just getting _involved_ in governmental affairs in the European Union."

"And why do you need me along?"

"Sherlock, I can't just have you locked up in this house alone for a week. You'll rot."

"I could keep myself entertained."

"You need the fresh air. The Netherlands will be good for us."

"There is no us."

"Maybe not in your mind now, but accept it. This is how things are happening from now on. Fighting against the inevitable isn't healthy for you. You've lost so much weight since coming here."

"Distress from being somewhere you don't want to be often does that to people."

"You keep talking about how you'd rather not be here. I think you're used to it though. This is home for you."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "If I weren't being kept here, against my will I'd be gone in a second."

"You keep telling yourself that to hide from the truth. You know, as well as I do, that this is the only place you belong. They don't want you back out there. You're safe here…with me."

Jim stood and took Sherlock's hand. "Come on, I have a gift for our little trip."

Jim led Sherlock to the closet holding many of Jim's fine suits, and jackets. Sherlock noted his long, dark jacket in the back with his blue scarf draped around it. The jacket hadn't been worn by him since he had arrived.

Jim searched behind his tailored suits to find a particular outfit hanging off of a hanger, hidden by a bag. "Go on, open it," Jim encouraged.

Sherlock began unzippering the bag, unsure what to expect. Jim was always unpredictable. Sherlock certainly hadn't expected a black Armani tuxedo.

"I thought," Jim took a step toward Sherlock taking the tux, "you'd need something to wear to an important even we have to attend when we go abroad." Jim reached up to begin unbuttoning Sherlock's crisp black button up. "You'll need to try it on to make sure it fits."

Sherlock allowed Jim to undress him. Jim often undressed him anyways. Jim took his time unbuttoning the black shirt, leaving it on Sherlock as he unzipped his trousers. Jim needed to restrain himself from attacking Sherlock once he was down to just his shorts. Once he had dressed Sherlock in the tux he was proud for holding it together to see such a sight.

The tux fit him perfectly. It wasn't tight and it wasn't loose. Sherlock looked good in it. He was like a classy movie star. Jim felt himself aroused from the sight. Sherlock, on the other hand, rarely dressed this nicely. To him the suit was too confining. He preferred his regular clothing.

"You look," Jim breathed walking close to Sherlock to invade his space, "darling."

"Can I put my normal things back on."

"Usually you're supposed to thank people for gifts."

"I guess I'm just different."

"I could just take you right here," Jim mumbled looking at Sherlock greedily. "Your body is all mine." Jim began kissing Sherlock ferociously while taking off the tux. Sherlock nearly rolled his eyes. There was nothing to himself they were in a closet of all places.

Thirty minutes later the two men stepped out of the closet, Sherlock in his normal clothes. They walked toward their study, Jim's hand left Sherlock's back only once they had arrived. Sherlock left Jim for his personal room.

Sherlock had been thinking. Perhaps this trip was a blessing. It offered the possibility of escape.

He knew it was dangerous, with Jim just in the other room, but Sherlock had to text his contact.

Soon after the text was sent a new one returned.

* * *

_Will work quickly._

_ Send coordinates and information once there._

_ See you soon. _


	6. The Escape

**Ah I'm so sorry it took me forever to get this up. I'm terrible :(**

**Nevertheless, here it is, chapter six, more to come after.**

**Thanks for reading and reviewing by the way! Much appreciated.**

* * *

Sherlock looked about his room with sincerity. It had been the one place he could go in Jim's house for peace. He had come here to think and unwind. He had formed his escape plan in the room. He would miss the room, but he hoped to never see it again. He craved the sitting room back at 221 B Baker Street. He missed his saggy, worn chair. He wanted to smell the musty scent that travelled through the apartment. He even longed to see the ugly wall paper he used to glare at whilst deep in thought.

Sherlock looked forward to having his old life back. Soon enough he would be back in London. He would once again be solving cases. His name would be cleared. Jim would be detained and locked away even sooner.

He and his contact had messaged all week. Their plan was set. Sherlock would send his location. An elite well trained group would surround the area, free Sherlock and arrest Jim.

Hours before the attack Molly and Lestrade would be taken into protection. Days ago Mrs. Hudson had been sent to Ireland away from Jim's snipers. Jim hadn't brought up the disappearance of Mrs. Hudson. He had however shown a sour mood toward Sherlock more often. Sherlock caught occasional suspicious glares from Jim. Jim had also been rougher toward Sherlock, not worrying if he bled. John was still safe somewhere in Scotland. His contact kept him well informed.

"It's time to go," a voice informed Sherlock from behind.

Jim led Sherlock toward the front doors, a hand resting on Sherlock's back. "Remember to be a good pet," Jim quietly said to Sherlock, entering a code to open the doors safely.

The trip went smoothly. All of the transportation was privately owned by Jim. The pair arrived in record timing. The weather in the Hague was chilly. Sherlock felt at home in his long dark jacket and scarf.

He took a deep breath of the cold air, realizing how he had missed the cold fresh outside air.

Jim smirked. "Enjoying this?"

"It's not quite London, but it's good to be out of that cage."

"Good, good, enjoy it while it lasts."

Jim led Sherlock to a small café. Jim's aviator sunglasses reflected the scenery behind Sherlock, hiding his eyes. "Two cappuccinos, hold the whip," Jim ordered emotionless for both of them.

"I don't drink cappuccinos or coffee," Sherlock reminded Jim once the server had left.

Jim exhaled sharply. "I don't need your school boy complaints," Jim said smoothly. "What? Would you rather have tea? Is that what you want? Well I'm sorry if I can't just read your mind." Jim's voice had risen with emotion as he continued to speak.

Jim continued to have a frustrated mood throughout the day. He was easily set off. He seemed irritated toward Sherlock.

As the evening approached they checked into a luxurious hotel. They had the penthouse suit facing the North side of the Hague. Their bags were discarded into the bedroom.

Sherlock carefully surveyed the penthouse, trying to quickly learn every detail of it. It would be helpful for making his escape.

"Sherlock," Jim called him from the bedroom.

When Sherlock entered the room he felt Jim's arms around him. Jim's face pressed into Sherlock's body. Hopefully, Sherlock thought, this would be the last time Jim can lay a finger on me.

"I've been so testy lately," Jim pouted, not looking toward Sherlock just yet, "especially towards you. I've just been so stressed about making my plans work out, I've taken it out on you. Maybe you'd like to take it out on me?" Jim's hands began moving lower, brushing by Sherlock's package lightly.

Sherlock stepped back from Jim at being touched that way. "There's no need to still be shy my dear," Jim chuckled. "We're far past that point."

"Can it wait until after the event tonight?" Sherlock inquired.

Jim's eyebrows shot up in surprise. After a thought he nodded and motioned to Sherlock's tux laying out on the bed.

Sherlock took the tux into the bathroom to change in privacy. He didn't change though. He pulled out the phone to text his coordinates to his contact. He couldn't stand this much longer. He had to get out now.

A few minutes later a text responded.

* * *

_Team will be there in 5 minutes._

_ Welcome back. _

* * *

Sherlock decided to wait in the bathroom until the team arrived. The less he saw Jim, the better. He was glad he didn't have to wear that ridiculous tux. It would be nice to return to a somewhat normal life.

Finally a click of the front door and it opened. Outside of the bathroom he heard multiple footsteps entering the penthouse. A commotion began in the penthouse. Jim must have been seething. Sherlock couldn't wait to see his face, knowing Sherlock had won.

When Sherlock stepped out of the bathroom though large hands roughly grabbed him. Something was sprayed in his face. He felt himself slip into an unconscious state.

* * *

Sherlock awoke in the main room tightly tied to one of the hotel chairs.

He was confused. His plan hadn't worked obviously. Only Jim sat before him. His expression wasn't angry or irritated in the slightest. For once he actually looked calm.

"That was clever, you nearly got away," Jim said.

"Hm…" Sherlock responded.

"You don't want to know how I figured it out? I guess I should let you do the deducing. You are the detective."

Sherlock thought. "You knew the blocked number was there the entire time. You left the pieces out so I would build the phone. You knew I would contact Mycroft. He had the most resources. You tracked Mycroft's phone and plans."

"Yes, yes, and then…"

"You hacked the system to send your own texts sending the team to the other four star hotel four blocks from our own."

A loud explosion came from a few blocks down. Sherlock could only imagine.

Jim shook his head mocking a glum look. "Oh no, oh no," Jim said, "Looks like that team has just arrived. Don't feel too guilty about it, even though it's all your fault."

"Now what?" Sherlock ignored Jim's attempt to make him feel humanity.

"Now what? You lost…again. Now what? Now you're going to stay mine. Now what? Things with Jim are going to get much worse. Much, much worse."

"How do you plan to keep me under your control, in your possession? You have nothing to hold over me anymore."

"Ah the disappearance of those you care about? You think there's no leverage I can hold over you?" Jim snapped and two burly men carried in a small man with a bag over his head. The man didn't struggle. He seemed limp in the men's arms.

They threw him on to the couch where he didn't move.

Sherlock inspected the clothes, gasping as he noted who it was.

"You've figured it out? Johnny boy over here has joined us. Scotland was too boring for him," Jim said pulling the bag off the head to reveal an unconscious John.

"Please don't hurt him," Sherlock said slowly.

"What's to stop me though? This _is_ a part of our game."

"There is no game," Sherlock said through gritted teeth. He was frustrated, not only with Mycroft for getting it wrong, with John for getting caught, with Jim for figuring it out, but also with himself. He had failed miserably.

"You'd better believe there is," Jim hissed then sent a stinging slap across Sherlock's face.

Sherlock glared at Jim. He was seething. Jim walked toward Sherlock placing a hand on Sherlock's beating cheek. Sherlock jerked his face away. Jim smirked. "Don't be a sore loser my love. You can't always win," Jim told him. He grabbed Sherlock's chin violently forcing the two men to stare one another down. His nails dug into Sherlock's face as he held his face in place. "You've got a fire in your eyes," Jim commented as he inspected Sherlock's angry stare.

Jim forced himself on to Sherlock, biting and clawing where ever he could. Sherlock tried to get away, but movement was limited with his arms and legs bound to the chair.

Sherlock craned his neck to see John's unconscious figure on the couch. Jim noticed where Sherlock was looking. He laughed evilly.

Jim walked toward John, pulling a knife out. "Don't," Sherlock warned.

Jim's eyebrows shot up. "You know, it still amuses me that you think you have control," Jim traced the knife around John's neck teasingly. Slowly, he placed the knife to John's cheek. He took his time as he cut a clear "JM" into John's cheek. John did nothing. He was still too gone in his unconscious state to stir. "That will scar nicely," Jim chuckled.

"I'm going to kill you," Sherlock said angrily struggling against his confinement. He wanted to strangle Jim for everything he had put Sherlock through. He could feel the rawness from his wrists and ankles rubbing against his bounds.

"Really?" Jim's voice rose as he asked the question. Jim walked over, wiping the knife off. "Do you remember what happened last time we played with knives? As I recall, it didn't end well for you."

Sherlock continued pulling, trying to escape.

Jim was on him quickly then. He pushed the knife against Sherlock's neck, making a cut. "You wouldn't kill me," Sherlock said in his deep voice.

"I wouldn't?" Jim straddled Sherlock. He sighed. "Oh, you're right, then. I do need my pet so badly. Things are going to get bad for you Sherlock. Rest assured, everything is going to be far more _painful_."


	7. The Aftermath

**I am so sorry! I'm literally awful at updating sometimes. I kind of lost my muse I guess, but I've found it. I'm still struggling with where to go with it, but I might have a general idea. Feel free to make recommendations! I also had a ton of school work and midterms and bleh you know how it is when life just catches up with you.**

**Thank you so much all of the reviews! I really appreciate them. I hope I'm able to keep the story going! **

* * *

There was always darkness. Sherlock was constantly swimming through a pitch black sea. When he wasn't searching his way through the dark he was fighting off vivid nightmares. The nightmares had become more real and unending with each passing. These were the effects of the drugs.

He was only aware he was being doused with drugs for a few brief moments every so often. His body was useless on the drugs, but his mind was a festival.

On the final day of his drug induced trip he had noticed he was being transported. Where to, he had no idea since his mind had been turned off. He didn't have the faintest clue of how many days he had been unconscious on the drugs. It must have been awhile, he thought to himself, still in a daze in his dark place. Scruff seemed to itch at his skill from an unshaven face of several days.

Then there was one day when he was allowed to regain consciousness. Sherlock felt the images of a strange room slowly drift back into his eyes. He began to become aware of his surroundings as the scene before him shifted into focus.

He was in a strange bedroom. It was windowless, but Sherlock could tell by the thickness of the walls that it was a part of an apartment. Further proving this fact was the muffled sound of condensed traffic and the occasional siren heard from a distance.

Where? He wasn't sure where the apartment was exactly. He was in a city though. From the sound of the traffic Sherlock could tell the apartment was a few stories up. To make estimation, perhaps five stories off of the ground?

The room he had been placed in during his drug excursion was monotone. There was a simple bed, in which he had woken in, with a white bed spread.

Sherlock made an attempt to stand, but felt his body was weak. Almost immediately, he felt to the white carpeted ground, catching himself on his hands and knees. His limbs shook violently from the drugs he had been on, as well as the exhaustion and hunger he felt nauseating his head.

He couldn't allow his body to hold him back though. He had to find a solution. He had to find a way to escape and save John. Hell, he didn't even know if John was still alive. He had been alive in the hotel, but barely. Sherlock had to find him and help him escape.

How though? He had already failed miserably. Guilt, a new feeling for Sherlock, panged at him as he thought of how he had failed his only friend.

Jim had promised things would get much worse for Sherlock, but what did that mean? How could Sherlock escape and ensure John's safety? He felt trapped. He was in a world where Jim Moriarty seemed to control all of the strings to the show, and Sherlock was merely his puppet.

Sherlock crushed his exhausted face into the carpet, trying to push himself up as the door to the room clicked open.

"Look at you…who knew a few drugs would do this to the great Sherlock Holmes?" a voice of a man said as he entered the room.

Sherlock barely managed to push himself into a sitting position on his knees, leaning against the bed, before he could give Jim a hateful glare.

"Doesn't be such a sore loser," Jim chuckled, "you were bound to lose."

"Where's John?"

"Ah, he's a little tied up right now."

"Don't you dare—"

"Don't I dare what? Have you still not realized that I hold all of the cards here? This game is over whether you like it or not, and I have won. You might as well show some respect for the man that owns you. It will do you some good."

Sherlock looked away from Jim, looking slightly defeated. He didn't flinch when Jim kneeled over Sherlock to cup his face in his hands to turn it so Sherlock was looking directly into Jim's dark soulless eyes. "There, you're nearly broken…you're nearly there," Jim commented examining Sherlock's face.

Sherlock knew he was right. There was no hope of escape. He saw no way to save himself and those he cared about in this world that Jim controlled. His only hope now was that Jim might get bored of him one day and set him free. Freedom to live was unlikely though. Death would be Jim's idea of freeing Sherlock.

Jim watched as these realizations dawned on to Sherlock. He smirked. "I told you time and time again, but did you listen? If you had listened to daddy in the first place this wouldn't be so painful."

Sherlock was famished. Sherlock was exhausted. Sherlock was drained. Sherlock was miserable. He saw no way out. He had never felt trapped.

He saw no point in stopping Jim as Jim straddled Sherlock's hips and ducked down to kiss Sherlock gently but dominatingly. There were still bruises covering Sherlock's body from later that night in the hotel. Jim ignored these bruises as he fucked Sherlock's tender and exhausted body on the carpet of the white room enthusiastically. Sherlock nearly complied with everything. His resilience was breaking.

"You were such a good boy, Sherlock," Jim smirked as he pulled his pants back on standing over a weakened and naked Sherlock laying across the carpet, his eyes sunken in. "How about a treat? Do you want to see your pet, your little Johnny boy?"

Sherlock felt himself perk up at this. Energy seemed to stream through him as he sat up to pull on his pants and trousers.

Jim watched Sherlock's strange awakening at the mention of getting to see John with disgust. John seemed to be the one bit of hope Sherlock still clung to for escape. Just wait, Jim thought to himself, until you see what has become of your pet. You'll surely lose hope at seeing him.

Jim led Sherlock out of the room and down a bare hall. "Not much time for decorating Jim?" Sherlock asked, his cocky demeanor seeming to come back a little at the prospect of seeing his friend alive. Since John is alive, maybe everything will be alright. Sherlock could learn how to live with Jim and perhaps he would eventually free John.

Sherlock was led into a dark and empty room. The temperature was notably cold. A greyness seemed to have cast itself over the room.

What Sherlock saw though crumbled his resolve. There was John, crumpled to the ground. A mess of blood surrounded him. His breathing was shallow. Through the wounds he was barely recognizable to the normal, unobserving person.

Sherlock rushed to his friend's side. "He's dying," he informed Jim.

"Good, I'm glad you're still detecting," Jim said back with a smirk.

"You can't just leave him here." Sherlock heard his voice becoming desperate.

"This was your doing Sherlock. You are the cause of this. You and your sentiment have resulted in this punishment. As I'm sure you're aware sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side."

Sherlock looked down at his friend, struggling to hold on to life. His own exhaustion and hunger were forgotten before John.

A strange feeling tugged at Sherlock. What was it? Guilt? He had never before felt guilt. He had never been able to.

John slowly opened his eyes. "Sherlock?" John asked, smiling slightly. Perhaps he had hoped Sherlock had come to rescue him. Sherlock shook his head sadly, at letting down his friend.

At the door Jim motioned for Sherlock to come. With a last fleeting look at John, Sherlock obliged, not wanting his friend to be hurt even more due to Sherlock's careless mistakes.

As he left the room, feeling Jim's hand leading him out by resting his hand on the small of his back Sherlock made a promise to John. I will save you from here John. I will see to it that this monster pays for what he has done.

* * *

**Sorry it was kind of short, but I promise the next one will be long!**

**Maybe Sherlock will actually emerge victoriously for once :]**


	8. A Night to Remember

Jim's bedroom was the nicest of the apartment. His room actually had a window. Though Sherlock still couldn't tell what city they were exactly in, it certainly wasn't London, he appreciated the sounds of the traffic late at night. The sound also confirmed that they were indeed on the fifth floor of the apartment complex, or whatever they were in.

For his good behavior in showing a small amount of loyalty to Jim, Sherlock was allowed to sleep in Jim's bed with him that night. He had also been fed. It was a small amount, but enough to sustain him. It had given Sherlock the chance to view the rest of the apartment. There was an open living room that led to a high tech kitchen. In the kitchen there was a plain table for eating at and a large set of glass doors covered one wall of the kitchen. The glass doors led out to a brilliant balcony that overlooked the city.

Jim had been gentle that night, also a reward. Once Sherlock had satisfied Jim's needs, Jim had fallen asleep wrapped around Sherlock.

In the darkness of the night, Sherlock listened to Jim's breathing. He listened as it became heavier and heavier in a rhythmic pace. Finally, it was time to act.

Jim had been so excited by Sherlock's submissiveness he hadn't noticed when his dear pet had slipped the strong sleeping sedative into Jim's wine during Sherlock's dinner. When Sherlock had "accidentally" knocked over the bottle of wine reaching for salt, he had looked so worried that Jim would beat him after Jim had cleaned up the mess that Jim hadn't suspected that his drink had been drugged. He also hadn't noticed the small collection of drugs Sherlock had barely collected during his trip on drugs. During the few times Sherlock had been responsive, just barely, he had had the insight to steal the drugs from the doctors, or thugs, administering them to him. When the doctor was away checking something else, or close enough for Sherlock to reach undetected into the doctor's pocket, Sherlock would steal as many of the pills as he could. He would then hide them, before the effects of the drugs took over once again, in a secret pocket all of his shirts had. He had known that pocket would come in use one day. They never suspected him since every time he had done it he either acted unconscious or completely loopy, pretending to fight off the nightmares. He had made a fine collection of drugs that he knew would come in handy, especially at this point.

With Jim out cold for the next several hours, Sherlock unwrapped himself from the man. As he moved through the apartment he noted that once again the doors and windows were wired shut to electrocute any who dared to try opening them without the passcode.

Sherlock moved his way to John's room. It was, as expected, locked, but done so novice. Jim had expected Sherlock to try, but give up on seeing the door locked. Sherlock smirked to himself as the door clicked open with a few adjustments.

Relief washed over Sherlock when he saw John was still breathing.

"John," Sherlock nudged John.

A frail John Watson looked up at Sherlock. "Sherlock," he rasped, "What's happened?"

"This…this is my fault John. I'm the reason you're like this."

John looked himself over, seeming to only just discover the state of his bruised and bloodied body. He sighed noting how severely his body hurt to move.

"You…you disappeared," John seemed to suddenly recall.

"Yes, well…I had to. I had to go away. It was all to save you, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade…but I've failed John. I've failed miserably and you know how difficult it is for me to admit that I've failed at something."

It was one of the few times John had heard Sherlock's voice so upset, and so full of emotion. Normally, the way the man talked made John want to punch him. This certainly wasn't normal circumstances though.

"I'm going to make it up to you though," Sherlock promised. "I'm going to help you escape this place."

"What how?"

"I-I have a plan."

"What is it?"

"You need to follow every instruction I give you, can you do that?"

"Yes I-"

"Can you John?" Sherlock insisted.

"Yes, Sherlock," John lamented.

"Listen carefully, Jim Moriarty must be put out for a while so we can escape. I've made a chemical that will make him weak from the drugs I've stolen. It should slow him down for a while. When the time comes I need you to choke him as they taught you in the army. Enough to put him out for several hours, but not to kill him. Can you do that?"

"Yeah…I'm weak, but I could still do it. Hold on, Sherlock, why not just kill him? Doesn't he deserve to die?"

Sherlock hesitated as though thinking the matter over. "No," he finally decided, "There would be too many questions to answer. I'm not even sure we're in our own country, so the details would be so complicated. No, Jim Moriarty doesn't deserve to die by the simple means of being drugged. He deserves something more painful. He's done so much." Sherlock stopped talking and looked John over, who was still struggling with injury.

John nodded in understanding.

Sherlock continued, "Now I'll be the one to let you out of your room once I administer the drug to him. Now you need to remember something for me."

"What? Can't you remember everything?" John taunted.

"Limited space," Sherlock motioned to his head. "I need you to remember the code to open the door. It's 468. Got it?"

"468, doesn't seem too hard to remember."

"If you type in the wrong code, it'll electrocute you in an instant."

"Oh…468…468," John began mumbling to himself in the hope of remembering it.

Sherlock stood to leave, but John stopped him with a simple question. "Sherlock, what'll we do once we're free? Jim Moriarty will be after us again. You do know that."

"We'll hide, infiltrate his business and take him down. Really John do think. This is how we'll destroy him. Jim Moriarty will regret the day he tried to ruin us."

John looked at Sherlock. What had happened to his old friend? Sherlock had always boasted that he lacked emotional attachment, but there was something there, something sinister and dark. Whatever Moriarty had done to Sherlock was bad if Sherlock was willing to be this dark in an effort to take him down.

Sherlock left John alone in the dark mumbling the code to himself.

Everything was returned to normal as though Sherlock had never left Jim's side that night. The door to John's prison was locked. Sherlock snuggled back into the out cold consulting criminal's arms.

Sherlock almost found himself jealous of Jim that night. Sleep wouldn't come to Sherlock. He lie awake, knowing what had to be done. It haunted him. It had to be done though to save John and everyone else. He had to put an end to the tyrants rule, there was no other way to do it.


End file.
